Sympathy for the Devil
by Jacob Flores
Summary: "Please allow me to introduce myself... " Had Elsa known that with those words she would be engulfed in his entire world, she may very well have ran... As it was, she was too choked with what felt like smoke in her lungs to do anything but receive his cordial bow. By the time he rose upright, it was too late.
1. Chapter 1

Let me first declare a disclaimer for the entire story. Other than OCs, I own nothing. Also, a fair warning. The rating WILL go up later in the story.

**I**

North of Arendelle, there is a place called "Sin and Damnation."

The only way to "Sin and Damnation" is by sea. It is a cold and dreary route. Dangerous even. In the old days, it was said that the route was home to sea monsters and creatures of the great abyss. Whirlpools appear every so often, forcing ships to give them a large birth. The most notorious of the whirlpools is the Maelstrom. However, to encounter a whirlpool on the way to "Sin and Damnation" is exceedingly rare and not a major point of concern. No; so close to the arctic circle, the greatest danger is the ice bergs that stray from the massive glaciers of the north. Of course, those only appear during the winter. So it is not the way to "Sin and Damnation" that makes the wretched place ill advised to travel to. It is "Sin and Damnation" itself.

On a small rock of an island just of the coast of Norway, there sits a castle with only four towers, square in shape, and has a single dock for the single solitary ship that visits every so often, bringing supplies and necessities. During the wars of religion of the seventeenth century, this castle was built by a Norwegian king who found his subjects conversion to Lutheranism, "disagreeable." Suppressing the spread of Lutheranism at all costs, he had those who did convert branded as heretics and sent to this castle for… rehabilitation. Most never returned.

This castle is the prison known as "Sin and Damnation." It is here that only walls were witness to the music and silences of Heaven being shouted down. It is here that souls gazed into Hell and found Hell looking back at them. And it is here… that a single prisoner lives.

…

"Sin and Damnation" has no guards. It has no need for guards. Anyone who tried to escape in the past found themselves surrounded on all sides by water that is perpetually cold all year round. Swimming in the water is a death sentence. Even if someone was able to make it to land, that person would have had to contend with miles of wilderness. Wolves are a constant danger in the forests. Someone could try to escape by boat, but the only ship that visits and leaves "Sin and Damnation" is, or at least was, always inspected before departure for stowaways. The only reasonable way to escape the oppressive prison is by rowboat… which, considering the dangers of the sea, is about as suicide as swimming in the water.

But what of the interior of the prison? What of the prisoners themselves who use to occupy the barren cells, who use to stare at the four walls and the single ironclad door, who tried to look out a slit of a window that was too high to see anything, and who tried to motivate themselves everyday with scribbles on the walls and floor if only to prevent a thick black despair from choking them?

If the dark corridors and damp rooms could speak, they would tell of why this place is a wretched, miserable, oppressive, and abysmal place that swallowed those who lived there. They would tell of the prisoners who were the ones who made the prison what it is now. The truth of why "Sin and Damnation" is so vile a place as to be blotted from the histories and why it was abandoned more than forty years ago is not because of its isolation, nor the dangers of traveling there, nor even its dark origin, but because that in the two-hundred years that it was occupied, even after the wars of religion, "Sin and Damnation" was not home to criminals… but to those whom the people of Scandinavia were truly ashamed of… to the point where they wanted to forget about them completely… even if they were innocent…

Tales of the prison have long since fallen into the realm of legend and superstition. Legends tell of a blood red thing that writhes in the dark corridors and damp rooms. Some say it crawled out of a crevice that led to Hell. Others say it is despair made manifest. This, and many other tales surround "Sin and Damnation."

However, to the one prisoner who lives here, the legends and superstitions hold no merit. The reality is that the only thing that's really killing him isn't some godforsaken monster. It's boredom.

As it so happens, he'll be awakened from his bored stupor very soon. A ship has docked at the prison. A ship that bears the flag of Arendelle. A ship that brought a surprise visitor who walks up the docks to meet the warden so she can speak to the prisoner. She hasn't spoken to him in nearly a year. Truth be told, she's actually quite anxious to see him again.

…

Pain stabs behind his eyes. Probably from lack of sleep. The small letters in the book he's reading aren't helping.

The fire flickers, casting shadows across the room from the fireplace. The dampness that pervades other rooms isn't present here.

Brandy washes down his throat. He sets his glass down on the coffee table in front of him, wishing he had some cigarettes. It would taste better that way.

Several books line a bookshelf that sits against a wall to his right. The light from the fireplace illuminates them; among them are the likes of Milton, Shelley and Shakespeare.

He flips a page. He knows how the story will end, but he always finds himself coming back to _The Fall of the House of Usher_. There's something familiar and comforting in it.

The sofa he sits on is adjacent to the bed, although the so called "bed" feels more like a plank of wood with a pathetic excuse of a mattress. That's exactly what it is actually. Probably why he can't sleep.

He wonders why the narrator is never named. As fascinating as Roderick Usher is, he can't help but wonder why Poe never goes into the narrator's identity.

Very little light comes in from a narrow window that rests above the bookshelf. It's so high above the floor, the only thing that's visible is the brooding grey clouds that block the sky from sight. It may be fall, but winter is coming early.

Finished with the story, he shuts the book and throws it on the coffee table. As engaging as all the stories in _Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque _are, he's been through them all already and he hasn't had more books to read lately.

A headache begins to grow behind his eyes that glow a wolfish yellow. It always comes back. It always sets in with the boredom.

He picks up his glass and leans back into the sofa, staring into the fire. Taking a drink, he waits for the alcohol to push the headache back into his mind. The flames dance and the pain festers. He pinches his nose. Some days it's harder to force the pain back.

Crushing monotony and paralyzing fear. That's what brought the headache on. It started as something barely noticeable. Then, as his sentence dragged on, it grew worse. The crushing monotony came from the general lack of activity. Though he lived comfortably for an exiled prisoner, his cell didn't exactly offer anything else to do other than reading, and even then he had to wait for more books to be delivered when he ran out, which was every so often. The paralyzing fear on the other hand… came from not knowing what the next day would bring.

His life is in the hands of others. He knows it. He would be a fool to deny it. He hates it. He hates feeling so powerless. He hates feeling so crippled. He hates… being _weak_…

… But then, he chose this path, didn't he?

He gave up trying to force the pain away and set his glass down, staring into the flames again.

He knows that the headache is just a way for what is going to kill him to come to the surface. _Despair_. The offspring of the crushing monotony and paralyzing fear. He had never been so melancholy. He wonders if this is the beginning of madness…

… _Stop it. _

He bring his hand to his face and then drags it through his raven hair, sighing as he closes his eyes.

… _I'm being pathetic. It's not as if I'm _actually _at their mercy._

This is true… He opens his eyes, realizing he's simply at the mercy of himself.

Turning around, he looks to the corner of the cell and sees a guitar that hasn't been used for almost a year. It's his, but he hasn't played in so long that he feels he's lost the gift.

… _It's been so long…_

The guitar brings back memories of cerulean eyes…

He gets up, walks to the corner, picks up the guitar and returns to the sofa.

For a moment, he sits there and just stares at it unblinking. Does his fingers remember the notes? Does he still have the beat?

It takes a while. Tuning the guitar takes longer than it used to. He remembers a time when it came so naturally. It seems as if he'll never get the hang it…

… and then… a tune…

… He plays it again and again until his grasp returns. It's not a song. It's not even a melody. It's a very abstract thing.

But the tune does become a melody… and the melody becomes a harmony…

… He finally remembers.

This when he starts playing the song. A sweet, tender, and yet sorrowful tune begins… the words are like honey in his mouth…

"_I look at you all… see the love there that's sleeping…_

_ While my guitar… gently weeps…_"

He remembers the violins…

"_I look at the floor… and I see it needs sweeping…_

_ Still my guitar… gently weeps…_"

The violins join his guitar in beautiful harmony…

"_I don't know why… nobody told you…_

_ How to unfold… your love…_

_ I don't know how… someone controlled you…_

_ They bought and sold… you…_"

For the first time in a long time, he feels… contentment…

"_I look at the world… and I notice it's turning…_

_ While my guitar… gently weeps…_

_With every mistake… we must surely be learning…_

_ Still my guitar… gently weeps…_

_ I don't know how… you were diverted…_

_ You were perverted… too…_

_ I don't know how… you were inverted…_

_ No one alerted… you…_"

… But all good things must come to an end…

"_I look… from the wings… at the play… you are staging…_

_ While my guitar… gently weeps…_

_ As I'm… sitting here… doing nothing but aging…_

_ Still my guitar… gently weeps…_"

That final not carries itself like a bird. In that time, it flies as high as it can… and then it gently… but surely… dies… and so does the music.

His eyes were closed the entire time as it flew. Memories take the place of his despair. And as he opens his eyes… all that is left… is clarity…

Knock! Knock! Knock! "Oy! Scratch! You awake!"

_Ah, dammit._ "What is it, Fritz? If it has something to do with Peter then you're wasting your time."

"Oh don't be so cross, Scratch. You have a visitor is all." replied Fritz.

He tries to comprehend what he just heard. "A visitor?"

"Yeah. Docked here bout' ten minutes ago."

… _That's strange. I suppose Heinrich is visiting. But last time he was here he said he wouldn't be able to visit for the fall. Certainly not for the winter when the ice sets in. At least not until the spring…_

"You presentable, or you need time to get changed?" asked Fritz.

"No." He sets the guitar down on the sofa and gets up to move for the door. "I'm ready."

As he approaches the door, he hears Fritz removing various locks. Then he hears a key chain as the final lock is undone. Opening the door, Fritz, a portly man with a wide forehead and bald scalp, stands aside to let the prisoner through. "After you. And no funny business."

Walking through the door and into the dimly lit corridor, he replies, "Fritz, I've been here for almost a year now. Do you really think I'm planning any "funny business?"" he says with air quotes.

"… You havin a rough morning?"

He sighs. "Let's just go." he answers, clearly irritated. Fritz doesn't say anything and the two walk down the corridor in silence.

The only illumination is torches that line the walls. Eventually, prisoner and jailer arrive at a door at the end of the hallway. Fritz opens the door to a room with a single table and two chairs on opposite ends. It's much brighter than the corridor, but has no windows.

Fritz closes the door behind them and when the prisoner sits in his chair, the jailer comes up next to him with a pair of manacles that have chains connected to the floor, just long enough to allow someone to lay his arms on the table, but short enough to prevent someone from trying anything. He frowns at them. "You know those aren't necessary." he says.

"Standard procedure. Warden's orders." replies Fritz.

He gives Fritz a look of bemusement, but eventually capitulates. As the jailer fastens the manacles to his wrists, he says. "I don't see why. The warden was never one to care much for standard procedure. Besides, Heinrich's been visiting for months."

Now it was Fritz's turn to give a bemused look. "Heinrich? Heinrich ain't visiting."

… "What?"

"There." he says. With the manacles completely fastened, the jailor walks to the opposite door. "She'll be down to see you in a minute."

… _She? …_

Before he can even ask anything, Fritz is out of the room, door closed behind him.

He's still trying to put two and two together.

_She? Not Heinrich?_

_She who? No one other than Heinrich visits. The only-_

_ …_

_ … No… That's not possible… _

But it is. A minute later, the inconceivable appears. Just in front of him, the door opens and a woman walks in with Fritz in tow.

Their eyes meet. Eyes that are only meant for each other.

"You may leave us." she says to Fritz, still not breaking her gaze. Knowing it's clearly an order, he nods and turns around, closing the door behind him.

For a while, they only stare.

She finally sits down across from him. Their still silent.

What can he do, but stare?

Fair skin, platinum blonde hair, freckles so faded their almost impossible to see. He's seen them before. This close, he can make them out. But the one thing that captures him the most… is her cerulean eyes… as blue as the winter dawn… a dawn they've seen together.

… "Elsa."

When the silence is broken, it feels like a whisper, as if saying it too loud would ruin the dream.

A smile so warm spreads across her lips. "Hey."

Her words confirm that he's not dreaming. She's actually hear…

… He's reminded of why he's here. Of why she's here. Of why they're in this place at all. Of her smile. Her smile that holds a promise…

… and of the forces that brought them together…

… that still rule over their lives.


	2. Chapter 2

It's been two weeks since I posted the first chapter. Just so you're aware, I'll attempt to update on a biweekly basis.

**II**

Noise. That great paradigm. It was everywhere. That, and color. The noise and splashing colors of the fireworks. Music. Dancing. Singing. Laughing. Partying. Noise.

That night was madness, and madness is equal parts noise and silence…

…but the silence was truly deafening.

He remembered how his elders use to tell him stories of Dumah, the angel of silence with a thousand eyes and a flaming sword. He didn't believe in angels…

…but Dumah wasn't an angel. He was the silence that all were too deaf to hear that night…

… In him, that silence became a roar.

…

"Would you like something to eat sir, or…?"

"A drink." he replied. "Cognac."

"Ah. Of course." The waiter smiled pleasantly and continued, "It's a special occasion. I'll have a glass of Courvoisier out in a minute. And who shall I make it out to?"

Looking over from his view of the night sky, he answered, "Daniel."

The waiter wrote "Daniel" on his pad and quickly shuffled away back into the café.

"Daniel" turned back to the night sky and its view of the fireworks. From where he was sitting at one of the outside tables of the café, most of them already occupied, he could feel the March breeze, reminding him that Spring may be just around the corner, but winter still echoed its sentiments. The night time air was cool enough for his coat.

As he sat back in his chair, making it lean against the table, his eyes wandered over the rest of the neighborhood, taking it all in, wondering… _Where the hell is Ragazzo?_

The café and neighborhood he had chosen was adjacent to one of the main streets that led directly to Corona city's square. He needed a place out of the way. Ever since the start of the homecoming festival, the city had been in rapture. He needed a rendezvous point to meet Ragazzo and move on to the palace. The… concert… would be at twelve.

He came upon this neighborhood with its café while he was moving with the crowds. Amidst the sounds of pomp, fireworks, celebration, laughter and music, he noticed that it was relatively quiet in comparison to the rest of the city. It also didn't have nearly as many people since most were on their way to the city square.

By all regards, it was the perfect place to meet Ragazzo. But for some reason, Ragazzo was late.

"Daniel!" a waitress called

"Daniel" held up his hand to signal the waitress of where he was. She walked over to him, placed his glass on the table and said, "Your Cognac, sir."

"Thank you." he replied. As the waitress shuffled away, he took the glass of Cognac and let himself enjoy his beverage.

Minutes passed by and Ragazzo still hadn't appeared. "Daniel" decided he was being overly anxious. Ragazzo did have a tendency to arrive late for everything. Besides, this was a festival. He needed to relax. Enjoy himself. Play his part.

His part was that of a traveling musician. With his guitar case leaning against the table to his side, his dark coat that contrasted his white dress shirt, and his trousers that were somewhat baggy over his dress shoes, he looked like the many other traveling musicians who had been streaming into Corona city days prior to the festival to ply their trade. Times like this was how they made their living.

"Daniel's" Cognac by now was finished. Ragazzo was certainly taking his time. Setting the glass aside, he reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a cigar. Once in his mouth, he reached into his other pocket, grabbed his tinderbox, struck a match and lit his cigar.

Snuffing the match, he threw it to the side and put the tinderbox back in his coat pocket. The smell of tobacco robbed his senses… He pushed the feeling to the back of his mind.

A puff of smoke wafted in the air. He only smoked cigars on special occasions.

He realized he didn't know what the time was. "Waiter!" he called.

The same waiter that had serviced him earlier turned to him. "Yes sir?"

"What time is it?"

Pulling out a pocket watch, he looked and said, "11:36."

_… It looks like Ragazzo is just going to have to settle with being late. I'll make sure to tear him a new one in my next report. _

He grabbed some marks from his trouser pocket and threw them on the table. "Keep the change."

Getting up, slinging the guitar case over his shoulder, cigar in hand, he began to make his way towards the crowds. The others would be meeting him by the back entrance soon for the concert at the palace. He didn't want to be late.

…

Controlled Chaos. That would be the best way to describe the festival. Aside from the decorations that lined the streets and buildings, and the confetti that rained from who-knew-where, a mass of people were converging through the streets toward the square.

As he walked with them, "Daniel" couldn't see much through the throngs of bodies, both young and old, but he could see the palace in the distance. The spires of the towers rising up to meet the night sky gave him a good idea as to where he was going. Heinrich would be there. He was probably-

_… Wait… Someone's calling my name…_

_ … No… Someone is calling MY NAME! _

Doing an about face, he looked for the source of the voice. He suddenly recognized the voice…

_THAT IDIOT! _"RAGAZZO!"

A head appeared of a man who was shuffling his way through the crowd, approaching the now nearly compromised "Daniel." His hair was an unkempt brown, his eyes slightly green. His skin gave away his Italian routes. That, and the fact that his calling left no vowel un-emphasized. Also dressed like a traveling musician, he had a cello case slung over his back.

"Ah, I found you!" He was out of breath. "I didn't see you at the ca-"

Slap!

"_Merda_!" he cried, rubbing his hand against stinging red cheek. "What was that for L-"

Slap! He didn't even give him a chance to finish his name, backhanding his other cheek.

"Ow!"

"Three things Ragazzo!" he said, sticking his fist in front of his face so the Italian could see his fingers clearly. "One: Only my friends call me by that name! Two: You are not my friend! And three: Here, my name is Daniel! I expect you to remember that! And while we're on the business of scolding you, where the HELL have you been?!"

"_Cristo!_ Sorry L-" "Daniel" raised his hand for another strike. "I mean, Daniel! That's your name! Daniel! D-a-n-i-e-l!"

"Daniel" lowered his hand. Him being several years Ragazzo's senior, he stood a few feet taller than him. The boy was only eighteen. Truthfully though, his hand was starting to hurt.

He started moving through the crowds again. "Walk with me."

Ragazzo started after him. As they walked together towards the palace, close enough to not have to shout over the rambunctious people, he said, "I know I was supposed to meet you at the café, but I got held up. Some street urchins tried to rob me blind and-"

"Don't give me your excuses. Our people are perfectly realistic, Ragazzo, and our realism states that everyone has to take responsibility for their actions. That includes you. No petty mistakes. No silly claptrap. No idealism." He took a drag from his cigar and let the smoke waft through the air, continuing, "When I was named your caretaker I was given not just the responsibility to guide you, but also to take responsibility for any shortcomings made by you, whether they're your fault or not. If you do not take responsibility, then any consequences that befall from your failings will come back to visit your superiors and your superiors will bring those consequences to visit you. Right now, I am your superior and you are my subordinate. You must take responsibility for your actions, otherwise we both lose and either way, you will lose more."

"I know. I know!" He sighed. "I'm sorry."

"Daniel" knew he was being mean. He had to be. Ragazzo needed to learn from him. Still… perhaps he had come off too harshly.

But there would be no room for apologies after tonight.

The silence stretched with Ragazzo's eyes downtrodden as they walked with a throng of people. Taking another drag and letting the smoke waft away, "Daniel" finally broke the silence to say as gently as he was capable, "I know you're sorry." Ragazzo looked at him as he continued, "You know I volunteered to be your caretaker. You also know I was the only one to do so. No one else wanted to look after you. I know you don't see it in them, but they're scared of you. They don't understand. I do. His highness knew this and he knew that he needed someone capable to groom you who wouldn't be skittish of your… capabilities. He accepted me as your caretaker when I volunteered not just because I was the only one fit for the job, but because you need someone who knows how to handle himself in our line of work. When I'm done grooming you, you won't have anyone to look out for you but yourself. You need to be prepared. Not even your capabilities will be enough to protect you if you can't guard yourself."

Another drag. Another waft of smoke. Then he said, "When the time comes, you're going to have to figure out who you are and where your loyalties lie. Depending on who both of those people are, they'll prove to be your greatest defense against whatever comes your way until you are unbreakable, or they will unravel you."

"But don't all our loyalties lie with his highness?" asked Ragazzo.

"Of course." replied "Daniel." This time, he looked Ragazzo right in the eyes. "But he isn't just our leader. He's an idea. And ideas out live us."

Ragazzo's eyes once again became downcast. "Daniel" just looked forward. He didn't want to keep walking in silence, but he had pretty much put the Italian in a poor mood.

Then… he had an idea.

Taking yet another drag and letting the smoke waft over him, he asked the boy, "Do you remember that song you sang a week ago in the bar at Hamburg?"

A spark of life came back to the boy's eyes, but he looked away, trying to hide a light blush of embarrassment.

Seeing this, a smile crept onto "Daniel's" lips. "Oh come on. You may have been drunk, but I know you remember."

Ragazzo tried not to give him the satisfaction of seeing him smile.

"Let's have another go, shall we?" "Daniel" urged. "How does it begin."

By now, the Italian's laugh gave away his disposition. Mentor and student both remembered the beat, the lax guitar, the words.

Finally, Ragazzo started:

"_There's somethin' happenin' here._

_What it is ain't exactly clear._"

"Daniel" smiled, taking another drag.

"_There's a man with a gun over there_

_A tellin' me, I got to beware._"

This time, "Daniel" took the reins.

"_I think it's time we stop, children, what's that sound?_

_Everybody look what's going down._"

That night in Hamburg had been a good way to relieve every one of the stress of the coming job. The music and instruments had helped. Now, both "Daniel" and Ragazzo sang:

"_There's battle lines being drawn._

_Nobody's right if everybody's wrong._

_Young people speakin' their minds_

_A gettin' so much resistance from behind._

_Time we stop, hey, what's that sound?_"

_Everybody look what's going down."_

They could remember the other "musicians" joining in harmony.

"_What a field day for the heat._

_(Hmm, hmm, hmm)_

_A thousand people in the street_

_(Hmm, hmm, hmm)_

_Singing songs and they carrying signs._

_(Hmm, hmm, hmm)_

_Mostly say, hooray for our side._

_(Hmm, hmm, hmm)_

_It's time we stop, hey, what's that sound?_

_Everybody look what's going down._"

If only for the music, the hangover in the morning had been completely worth it.

"_Paranoia strikes deep._

_Into your life it will creep._

_It starts when you're always afraid._

_Step out of line, the man come and take you away._

_We better stop, hey, what's that sound?_

_Everybody look what's going down._

_We better stop, hey, what's that sound?_

_Everybody look what's going down._

_We better stop, now, what's that sound?_

_Everybody look what's going down._

_We better stop, children, what's that sound?_

_Everybody look what's going down._"

By then, everyone had fallen over from disorientation, laughing and quickly passing out then and there. Finishing the song and thinking back on that night, "Daniel" made a mental reminder to take Ragazzo for Oktoberfest in Munich.

Life did have its mercies.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, smiling. The memories would sustain them up until twelve.

At twelve, they would have to operate on nothing but grit and adrenaline.


	3. Chapter 3

**III**

When he was young, his teacher, Aapo Reuben, told him the story of the siege of Masada.

The fortress of Masada was built atop a mighty mesa. So lofty and isolated was it that, looking at it, one would think it was altogether impregnable. The only pathway up to the fortress was so narrow that not even too people could climb up the mountain together. It was called "the Snake" because it wormed its way to the summit with many hazardous zig-zags. His teacher, always one for legends, told him that it was the place where David rested after he fled from his father-in-law, King Saul.

At the beginning of the Great Jewish Revolt against the Roman Empire, the Sicarii, rebels fighting for a free Judea, overcame the Romans at Masada and settled there. There they were joined by other Sicarii and their families as the war dragged on. Eleazar ben Ya'ir, their leader, would lead raids from the fortress against the Romans in the countryside, as well as against the Jews who had betrayed them during the Roman siege of Jerusalem. With the way he told it, his teacher made it seem like the Romans had lost all taste for battle when fighting against the brave Sicarii.

Eventually, the war came to their doorstep. Some 15,000 troops laid siege to Masada. The Sicarii defenders, with their families and others who didn't fight in the battle but fled to Masada after the fall of Jerusalem and the destruction of the temple, were little more than 960. They sat and waited in the fortress for nearly three months until the Romans had finally made their own path up the mountain.

When the Sicarii knew that all was lost, they had a choice. They chose "a glorious death ... preferable to a life of infamy." Setting everything ablaze, the "brave and noble Sicarii," always referred to as such by his wise teacher, Aapo Reuben… murdered their families and ended their lives in mass suicide.

Know this… the law states that suicide is a mortal sin, one of the greatest offenses against God.

So the Sicarii drew lots, having each man kill the other in turn, down to the last man who would take his own life.

When he grew up, and when he had lost everything, he promised himself that he would never be like the Sicarii. And when he had met **him**… he promised himself that his rebellion… his revolution… and the revolution of his friends would be better. It would be brave. It would be noble. And it would be glorious.

… He was a fool.

…

"Well, Ragazzo? What do you make of it?"

"Daniel" and Ragazzo had been queerly staring at the east palace wall. Nobody noticed.

"It shouldn't be a problem." replied the Italian. "But what's on the other side?"

"The kitchens. We'll be heading through the lower levels until we find the servants quarters. Once we're there, we need to find one of the hidden passage ways that lead to the east wing. The others will already be inside."

"I don't like it." the boy said, frowning. "If feels like the others are being used as a distraction."

"Don't worry about them. Their mission is just as real as ours. Ours simply takes precedent. That's why I'm here."

Taking a drag, "Daniel" could feel the smoke getting to him. It had been distorting his senses. It was… ecstasy…

_Not yet… Just a little longer…_

"Are you alright?" asked Ragazzo.

The Italian noticed that his eyes seemed to glaze over. Until they refocused.

"It's nothing." he answered lowly.

Ragazzo looked at him briefly, a flicker of understanding in his eyes, before looking away. He knew his pain. It was his crutch… but he chose not to say anything.

From where they were at the east wall of the castle, there was few people nearby. Most likely because everyone had migrated to the city square for the festivities. Still, this close to the castle, it was surprisingly devoid of people. You couldn't even see any sentries on the wall.

It was all so perfect.

"Old Scratch!" He visibly cringed at the voice and nickname. "Fancy meeting you here!"

_Oh for the love of… Does no one care for discretion?_

"Daniel/Old Scratch," and Ragazzo turned around to see two people walking towards them. Both were also dressed like traveling musicians, also sporting cases for their own respective instruments.

"You know I hate that nickname, Peter." said "Daniel/Old Scratch." "That aside, you're supposed to refer to me by my alias until midnight."

Peter, a man in his mid-twenties, with blond hair, blue eyes, and a smile plastered on his face so big and sincere it was annoying, replied, "It's almost midnight anyway, Scratch. Plus we're the only ones here. No one's going to care what your name is in a few minutes. And besides, there's a certain charm in knowing that if you're the devil, then I'm Tom Walker."

He sighed. "Honestly, it's bad enough that Ragazzo can't remember his orders, but you just like to irritate me. Would it kill you to just follow through with a mission to the letter?"

"Actually, it would. If you had your way, I wouldn't be able to save us all from certain death. I need to think on my toes. What do you think saved us from a horrifying end on multiple occasions?"

"He's right you know." said the Italian.

"Daniel/Old Scratch," growled. "Ragazzo…"

"Shutting up, sir."

He just shook his head as if to say _Why me? _"You know, Szilveszter…" he said, "… I wish more people were like you."

Not surprising. Szilveszter never said anything. Ever.

A Hungarian of quiet repute in his late twenties, he was standing just behind Peter to his side staring off into space when he heard his name and looked to "Daniel/Old Scratch" as if acknowledging his presence for the first time… and the presence of everyone else for that matter, with a somewhat irritated look before turning away again.

He was the shortest of the four of them. Even shorter than Ragazzo. However, he was stocky. Scraggly facial hair was very noticeable on his face. In addition to his traveling musician clothes, he wore a low cap over his head and glasses that seemed to emphasize the indifference in his eyes.

His face was always blank. You could never read him. Could never tell anything with him really.

"… See, that's why I like you. You don't talk back. You don't complain. You don't make excuses. You just roll with the punches… or bullets, all things considered." Taking a drag, "Daniel/Old Scratch" once again addressed Peter. "I assume the others are in position."

"Yep. We'll be seeing them soon."

"And the army?"

"They've retired to the barracks outside the city. The officers of the 3rd and 5th regiments felt that the men were in need of a much deserved break. They'll be enjoying themselves either in revelry or sleeping. Or both, as it is."

"What of Schultz and his men?"

"Their waiting outside the hills in case anything goes awry..." Peter was taking in the area around the east wall, noticing something for the first time. "Um… perhaps I'm missing something… but weren't we suppose to meet at the back entrance?"

As he took a drag, "Daniel/Old Scratch" fashioned his own smile on his lips… A knowing one. "What back entrance?"

…

"The… back entrance… to the castle?"

"A castle? With a back entrance?" He turned back to the wall. "Don't be absurd. Castle's don't have back entrances. Especially not this one."

He took yet another drag… with a cunning glow from his eyes. "At least… not literally."

By now, Szilveszter was giving what looked like his attention, though saying it was undivided would be pushing it. Peter on the other hand looked absolutely confused.

"I don't understand. Is there, or isn't there a back entrance?"

"In theory, yes." replied Ragazzo. His chest was puffed out and he had a look of pride on his face. But it still took Peter a while to catch on.

"In theory? What does that even-"

Then it dawned on him. A look of understanding and near excitement came into his eyes.

"No… really?"

"Oh yes." replied the Italian. "As my family use to say, _attenzione il poco ortodosso_."

"We… actually get to see it?!"

"Don't look so disappointed, Peter." said "Daniel/Old Scratch" with amusement.

A single eye brow rose from Szilveszter. That was his equivalent to a normal person's look of surprise. Even he heard of Ragazzo's capabilities.

"Well, I… I have no words!" Peter was just about bouncing. "I've heard the rumors, but I was always hoping to see it for myself. This is- Wait. Why not just have Schultz do this? Why have him act as an emergency procedure instead of doing something like this?"

"His highness ordered Ragazzo to be the one to open the back entrance. We need to avoid creating too much collateral. And panic. Explosives have a tendency to create a lot of both." Another drag. "Besides, while I have the utmost respect for Schultz's skills with explosives and artillery, he's a bit too… trigger happy… He's not the kind of person you want watching your back. Especially when explosives are involved. And I think I speak for everyone involved when I say we would like to avoid the death of innocent civilians."

"True that." replied Peter.

_Yes. That… and the contingency. _That's what his highness called it. He didn't say this out loud. Better to let the others find out later.

"Well, this is going to be an exciting night."

"Exciting isn't the word I would use…" replied "Daniel/Old Scratch." "… but yes. Now, what's the time?"

Peter pulled a pocket watch from his coat pocket and said, "11:53."

By now, everyone's attention was on the wall in front of them. Even Szilveszter's. In fact, he was in rapt attention.

Silence.

Peter's attention was fixed on the hands of the pocket watch. With the seconds, his smile vanished. In its place… a look of conviction. "And… six minutes."

He began the countdown. Everyone was counting the seconds.

Ragazzo was jogging in place, his arms still at his side. It was his way of, "getting pumped."

"Five minutes."

Continued silence.

Szilveszter's eyes looked tense. Fierce. It was the only emotion he ever showed.

"Four minutes."

The silence… It was deafening… Had the time really passed so quickly? …

"Three minutes."

Now, everyone had a hand anxiously placed on his instrument case, reaching for the handle…

"Two minutes."

…

If he had been smart, he would have remembered what Aapo Reuben had told him.

It wasn't entirely his fault. His teacher, not one for foresight, hadn't counted on the fact that the best lessons are the first ones to be forgotten when you teach a lesson you yourself have never learned. His teacher had never had to grow up as quickly as he had, had never been forced to make a decision when he was backed into a corner, revealing what kind of person he truly was… and he never had to shed blood for his country.

But he was wise. And he told him that, for all of the Sicarii's bravery and nobility, they had been in the wrong since the very beginning. For blood shed goes both ways. It's not just about your own blood. It's about the blood of those you kill. The blood of your enemies. The blood of your friends. To shed the blood of yourself and your neighbor was still sin. No one should shed blood just to advance what they believe is something higher than themselves… Transfinite values or no…

But Dumah doesn't care for morality. That night, just before that terrible roar, he growled like the beast of the Tiber from Daniel's dream before it descended upon its prey.

…

Our Daniel took what seemed like his last drag of the night. It was a great puff of smoke. The cigar had burned out. The smoke wafted in the air…

… and hung there as if held on by something invisible.

"One minute."

"Well then…" he said, addressing everyone. "Gear up."

They were fast. The cases were facades. When "Old Scratch" pulled on the handle, the case fell away. The sling however, still over his shoulder, was actually connected to a double barrel shotgun he now held in both hands. His revolver, fondly named his hand cannon, was under his coat. His cigar was still in his hand.

Peter quickly pocketed his watch, pulled on his case handle, making it fall away, and took in his arms his revolving rifle before swiftly taking out his pocket watch again.

Szilveszter pulled on his case handle, revealing his long rifle that he cradled in his arm.

Ragazzo… dropped his case to the side. He didn't need a weapon.

They were ready.

"Forty-five seconds." said Peter.

"Remember…" "Old Scratch" spoke quickly and clearly, making sure they remembered every detail. "The kitchens, servants quarters, and the east wing. We encounter any servants, ignore them; unless they fight back. We encounter any guards, kill them. And remember. We're not here for the ball or for any entertainment. We're here for the son and daughter of Princess Rapunzel and Prince Eugene. When we find them, take them alive. If we find the princess or the prince, take them alive. And if for some reason Heinrich hasn't dealt with King Thomas and Queen Primrose… don't hesitate." He flung the burnt out cigar to the side. The smoke that had wafted in the air… was quickly lost in his inhalation. His eyes, briefly rolled back, lost behind white, refocused… the yellow in them glowing. "They can't walk away from this alive."

"… 3… 2… 1…"

"Ragazzo, now!"

The Italian charged, running straight for the wall… smashing into it with such power that it burst opened on the other side. He didn't stop until a dark corridor was created through the wall and into the kitchens.

They had their back entrance.


	4. Chapter 4

**IV**

_How long ago was that?_

That was back in 1845. March, to be specific. Over a year and a half now.

_Such irony._

The irony lay in the homecoming festival. Originally called the lantern festival, King Thomas changed its name as a way of commemorating the return of Princess Rapunzel.

_He didn't count on his daughter being taken again. Or his son-in-law for that matter._

He remembered finding them. Their escort of guards. Their two children in tow with a man-servant. Their fear at seeing him. Their trauma when the guards fell.

_ I did tell them to drop their weapons. _

As it was, they bought the family of four and the man-servant enough time to run. When he found the princess and prince-consort again, their children and the man-servant were gone.

_They escaped… Undoubtedly, it was for the best. _

The truth is, to his majesty, they all served one purpose… insurance. But that insurance wasn't complete without Prince Liam and Princess Josephine. What's more, his highness…

_Now his majesty…_

… said that he needed the children for the new order. If he could make them sympathetic to the cause, then they could one day return to Corona to act as its new governors. Their royal lineage and support for the empire would bring about lasting peace in the region. The Concert of Europe would be especially pleased. From the outside, it would look like the balance of power was still in place.

_They would just be puppets. As all the new Imperial governors of the empire will be._

So the night didn't go exactly as planned. Even one as meticulously prepared for as theirs. Acting in coordination with everyone within the city and without hadn't been easy. All information was on a need to know basis. And where was he during all of this?

_… Smoke… Adrenaline… Red… Blood… It's all a haze._

He gets like that whenever he goes under. His memory becomes selective. Aside from his pursuit of the Royal family, he remembers telling Ragazzo, Peter and Szilveszter to join the others. The fighting between the turn-coats and the loyalists had escalated. He decided to find the Royals on his own. When he did find them, he was joined by some turn-coats who had taken the princess and prince-consort away. One of them reported on seeing several people, two of them looking like small children, riding hard on horseback out of the palace before they could do anything.

_All the best plans go awry._

In truth though, the coup d'état had been a massive success. Any casualties among the turn-coats were all injured. No deaths. As for the loyalists, the guards were so shocked by the attack that half were already dead when the rest attempted to rally. Attempted being the key word. Calling it a fight would be stretching it. It was a slaughter.

_Thankfully, the nobility and servants complied._

Before midnight, any attending the ball were trapped in the ballroom. Nobody noticed the doors locked until shots were fired. The servants on the other hand had all surrendered and were hemmed into rooms. The turn-coasts made sure they stayed where they were placed. They didn't put up a fight. They couldn't. It would just get them killed.

_I do believe some were… scarred._

An image of a woman holding her hands over her ears as tightly as she could so she couldn't hear the gun shots and screams came to his mind. The poor woman must have been so traumatized. She screamed to the top of her lungs when she couldn't stand it anymore.

_Compared to what happened to the 3__rd__ and 5__th__ regiments, everyone at the palace had it easy… _

Indeed. At least some of the guards managed to see what was coming before it hit them and fight back. But the 3rd and 5th regiments weren't so lucky. Understand… no coup d'état is possible without the support of the military. His majesty is a very persuasive person. In his secret meetings with the Coronan army board prior to the coup, he managed to convinced everyone on the board that the Royal family was an old guard that needed to be put aside for new leadership to take its place. They all fell into line… except the officers of the 3rd and 5th regiments. They were the elite and were charged with the protection of Corona city. They weren't the only ones. Despite the army board and Corona's chief generals and admirals in the navy changing their allegiance, several middle-rank underlings responded unfavorably to the "idea" of new leadership. The officers were done away with quickly and quietly.

_The 3__rd__ and 5__th__ should have fallen in line… But they were the only army to resist in-mass._

Their pride they held as being the elite held firm. If they truly believed that a coup d'état would actually befall Corona and that it was not simply an "idea," they must have voiced their concerns to the army board and no one else for fear of what would happen to them…

_They fell right into his majesty's hands. _

He did speak to them directly on several occasions. When the talks failed, the contingency was put in place. He would give them one last chance to reconsider. In fact, just before he went to the café to meet Ragazzo, he spoke to them again… They refused.

… _Streaks of white… A howling… The crash of fire… They were like fireworks… The real fireworks drowned out the screams…_

That's what he saw from a distance. To the others, Schultz and his men were simply a backup. A support. But his majesty put him and his men in place to put the contingency into effect. They had raided several mortars and phosphorous rounds from a magazine. Schultz, ever the explosive enthusiast, was undoubtedly pleased to use such weapons on other human beings. He was always a sadist. To Ragazzo, Peter, Szilveszter and the others, he was never at the barracks and that's why Peter had to report in to him. The information he got was from a man within the city whose information wasn't up to date with what was going on outside the city. Only with what was going on within the city and the palace. They weren't happy when they found out.

_I don't blame them. Being out of the loop makes you think you're not trusted. _

Ragazzo was just about furious, shouting curses in Italian, saying how he should have been told what was really going on and that he didn't sign up for this. Peter and Szilveszter on the other hand were rather quiet. After Ragazzo stormed off, they simply looked at him, their eyes cold, as they walked away after him. He let them go. He needed to give the boy some time to cool off. He eventually came back, although he came around to all the secrecy after about a month. But Peter and Szilveszter came back to work much sooner. They had been with him much longer than the Italian and had done far worse things. They went through the process already.

_Besides… it's not like they had Heinrich's job…_

He remembered walking toward the ballroom, seeing the nobility and aristocracy shuffled out forcefully when Heinrich was done speaking to them. Walking into the ballroom he saw…

… _A trail of blood… A body had been dragged… The king's body…_

Heinrich was just supposed to kill the man. Not beat him to a pulp with a broken table leg. But he wanted to send his point home. As if shooting him in the knee caps wasn't enough. A bullet to the head would have sufficed. And if none of those things worked, then Queen Primrose's scream of anguish was probably enough to send chills running down the spines of everyone in the room… That, and her being shot in the belly, making her die a slow death…

… _A woman's body… The queen's body… slumped just over her husband… She tried in vain to stop the bleeding… The only one bleeding out was her… _

Heinrich wasn't a sadist. But he wanted the nobility to understand. Understand that there was no resistance. The entire country belonged to his Imperial majesty now.

… _And it wasn't just Corona…_

The revolution had reached every single German speaking country in Europe. The royal houses of all those nations, the Hapsburgs, the Hohenzollerns… all dead.

… _Except one… Heinrich… My best friend… Heinrich von Metternich…_

… _Still… at least one good thing came out of it all…_

… _Though… I'm not very deserving…_

…

"You look awful."

He forgets himself. Elsa's voice helps him remember.

He's on "Sin and Damnation." He hasn't seen Elsa in a year. He's sitting in a dimly lit room. She's sitting across from him, her smile, still so warm, brightens the room like a candle. The corners of her smile remind him of a playful child… He realizes he's being teased.

"Prison changes a man." he replies with his own mocking expression.

Her light laugh lifts the oppressive air. "How poetic."

Silence falls between them. What do you say to someone you haven't seen in a year? He wonders that now. He use to know the words. Know the dance. And he was an excellent dancer. Better musician though.

"I have something for you." she says, reaching into a bag that was slung over her shoulder. She pulls out a book and a small rectangular case, setting them on the table.

He looks at her with curious eyes before picking up the book to look at the title. It reads, _The Raven and Other Poems_. He chuckles when he sees the name of the author. "You remembered."

"How could I not?" she replies. "For all its macabre, you've read me enough Poe to make me remember lines of dialogue. But I thought you would appreciate the other gift more."

She now holds the small box and flips the lid open. Inside are cigarettes. All perfectly rolled.

"Need I really say anything?" Setting the book aside, he reaches into the box and retrieves a cigarette, placing it in the corner of his mouth. "Got a light?"

Elsa reaches back into the bag and pulls out a tinderbox. Grabbing a match and striking it, she lights his cigarette.

When its lit and the match snuffed, he takes his time with the drag… His frayed nerves are immediately soothed. Smoke has that effect on him. One year without tobacco is lost in what feels like sitting in a sauna.

"Care to share?" she asks.

"Of course." he replies, handing her the cigarette. She takes a drag, letting the smoke waft around the room.

Most would be surprised by Elsa's smoking. It wasn't something she did frequently. She picked up the habit from him. Of course, Anna was just about flabbergasted when she found her big sister smoking for the first time. Kristoff was neutral on the matter. And as for _him_… well, he could care less.

She hands the cigarette back to him. "Now be honest with me." he says. "How awful do I really look?"

… _Well…_

Elsa thinks about how she should answer. He doesn't just look awful. He looks _terrible_. His skin, skin that use to be fair, seems paler, as if he hasn't seen the sun in months. His eyes, once a lively yellow, seem tired, like looking into a cold fire. His posture seems hunched, something his etiquette from before would never have allowed. His hair…

_My God… Is it white?_

It is. At least, some of it is. It's still mostly raven black, but strands of white are noticeable. _It's as if a part of him decided to age several years faster…_

But Elsa knows better. She knows from the letters he wrote that in here, at the age of thirty, his true age finally caught up to him. She knows that etiquette is useless and wanes in a place like this. She knows he really hasn't felt the sun on his face since they locked him up. And she knows… that in his lower moments, seized by bouts of melancholy, he found himself staring into a fire long gone cold, contemplating a cool dark oblivion.

_ This place is killing him._

"Just say it. I look like Hell."

She acts amused by this. "Well, if you must know, yes, you do." She does her best to hide the pain. For him.

"Figures." He decides small talk is about as far as they can get with each other right now. "How's Anna?"

"She's well." she answers. "Jovial, actually. Her and Kristoff are spending most of their free time with the twins."

"Ah, I forgot. And what are the names of your new niece and nephew?"

"Prince Alexander and Princess Elizabeth." Elsa's faced beamed at the mention of her niece and nephew. "They're the two most adorable children I've ever seen. Anna and Kristoff… They're the happiest they've been in a long time. Amazing really. Although, Anna still seems like more of a matron than she does… well, Anna."

"That's just a good sign she's settling into her role as mother well." He takes a drag. It seems sweeter somehow. "Speaking of settling in, have Rapunzel and her family settled into their new home?"

"Their coping. It hasn't been easy, but I think Liam and Josephine are coming out of their shells. It's slow, but it's progress."

"I'm guessing Rapunzel and Eugene are still… disgruntled with me."

"They've been coming off as indifferent. I'd like to ask them what they think of you now, but that would raise questions."

"It's alright. And… What about you, Elsa?"

She sidestepped the question. She didn't want to go there. She came here for him, not her. _Act amused. _She gave him a smirk. "Shouldn't I be the one asking that question? I'm not the one who's in exile."

He took a drag. He gave her what she had identified a long time ago as his poker face. "True enough. But all the more reason to ask you how you've been. Talking about the time I spend staring at the walls is hardly interesting."

Elsa had to be careful. He was reading her. "I'm well enough."_ Not enough._ "You've read my letters."

His brow creased. _Did I convince him?_

"I can tell you're hiding something." he said. "Would you rather I be blunt?"

Elsa cringed inwardly... _I thought he would at least dance around it more. _"I don't know what you're talking about."

She hoped he would use his serious look to try and gauge her… She was mistaken. Instead, he gave a look of what appeared to be sorrow and… _knowing?_

Her hands started ringing themselves. That look always made her feel self-conscious.

A glance he made at her hands made Elsa aware of what she was doing._ Dammit. _She moved to hide her hands under the table slowly.

He wouldn't have it. Setting his cigarette aside, he reached for both of her hands, taking them in his. "Elsa…" he said, saying her name with as much understanding as he could muster.

She tried to draw back… but his touch… it was making her unsure of herself. Her hands firmly in his, she brought up her cerulean eyes to look directly into his yellow eyes. They locked, Elsa's saying everything he needed to know… but he asked the question anyway.

"Elsa… tell me about your marriage."

_No… no, no, no, no, no… _She refused to go there. She wouldn't go there. There was nothing-

He started rubbing her hands… _No… _not rubbing… He… _Oh God…_

He was massaging her hands. Like he used to.

_… He knows me too well…_

The way his hands worked deftly with hers, the way his touch released the tension in her muscles, the way it soothed her… it made her melt…

"Elsa." His voice was firm, yet kind. "I don't want to know if it's fine or if it's terrible or even if it's well. You don't need to tell me how it is. I already know how it is. What I want to know… is how it makes you feel."

His eyes are maddening. Then one word, "… Please."

_DAMMIT! _Elsa couldn't look him in the eyes anymore. She turned away, closing her own. It was too much. She couldn't let him see her eyes. Couldn't let him see her tears. Couldn't let him see her pain, or the burden she carried.

_I'm such a fool. _She didn't come to "Sin and Damnation" just to comfort him. She came so she could also be comforted _by _him. She wanted to hear his voice. Wanted to see the man she truly loved. Wanted to be told it was going to be alright… even when she knew it would be anything but. The tragic burden she brought with her was proof of that. How could she possibly tell him the truth?

He realized he was appealing to the part of Elsa that only experienced pain… He needed to appeal to the part of her that only experienced love.

"Elsa… Love… look at me." He took her chin in his hand and made her look at him as gently as he could. A single tear streamed from one of her closed eyes. He waited for her. He didn't want to force her. He needed her consent.

Her eyes finally opened, looking into his…

… And then… the final blow…

"Tell me about your son."

With those words and with the warmest smile she had seen in a year, Elsa was defeated. Her eyes were cascading. She surrendered.

_… I've surrendered everything to you… My heart… My soul… My love… How can I surrender more?... How can I tell you the truth?... What if it's not what you should hear?... What if it destroys you?... _

_ … You want to know how I feel… about my marriage… my son… _

When was the last time someone asked her how she felt? Something other than how something was? Anna asked it rarely now. Neither did Kristoff. Nor Rapunzel. Nor Eugene. Her _husband _never asked it at all… But in every single letter _he _wrote, he always asked her that same question, and she would always avoid it like it was the plague.

And now it, and everything that brought them to this point, came back to her with a vengeance.

_… How I feel… is that I think you brought all of this and everything else on me… on my family… on us… _

_ … but I __**know**__… that it's not your fault… but mine…_

_ … because I let you in._

She would eventually voice this out loud, and he would tell her that it wasn't her fault, but his. Not just because he was always trying to comfort her, to protect her, but because he really believed it. To him, his despair was proof of that. The truth however, the one that she hid, would remained buried until after all was said and done.

To bring herself to finally tell him the truth, Elsa had to dig it up first…

…

And so ends the exposition chapters. Now is the best time to leave reviews. Seriously. I want to see them. Next chapter, the real meat of the story begins.


	5. Chapter 5

**V**

_**In the middle of the journey of our life I came to myself in a dark wood where the straight way was lost.**_

_**-Dante Alighieri**_

_Our life_…

Strange. The words seem almost prophetic to her now. Despite the darkness they found each other. Or rather, _because_ of that darkness they found each other.

And the wood was dark indeed.

…

It started with a letter.

_Queen Elsa of Arendelle,_

_ I'm sure you have been experiencing great confusion and sorrow over the past three months. So allow me to be the first to offer you my condolences for the deaths of your uncle and aunt as well as the disappearance of your kin. His Imperial Majesty also asked me to convey his own condolences and apologies as his ambassador. No doubt these condolences seem hollow on paper in cold letters, but he and myself are very sincere our volition. When the nationalists tried to systematically wipe out the German speaking countries they spared no Royal bloodline, and if they spared anyone of Royal lineage, then they, like, your kin, were abducted, leaving us to search for them. As of now however, I regret to inform you the likelihood that they may be… deceased. The nationalists were nothing more than terrorists and radicals, un-unified in their causes. Unfortunately, that didn't stop the fan of revolution to spread the flames. As you can imagine, revolution is always paid for in blood._

_ As you are aware, the old German speaking nations and kingdoms that once dominated central Europe are no more. When chaos ensued, all identity was lost in violence. Age old empires, Prussia, Austria, Bavaria, Corona… gone. If not for the quick response and joint action by the armies and navies of these nations, then central Europe would surely still be in the throes of war and strife. Even after the bloody business was done, the amount of so many dead continue to remind us of all that was lost. The families of those lost are still in mourning and grieve for their loved ones. So believe me when I say that the pain that _you_ and your family must be experiencing is not lost on us._

_ If you are still unconvinced, then allow me to say this… my entire family was also killed. _Murdered_. They were von Metternichs, true Royalists. It made them a target, myself being one of them. There was a time once that I use to take my family's name for granted. This might seem hard to believe for someone with a name such as von Metternich. Ever since the congress of Vienna, my family has long been highly regarded with the most esteem of any of the noble families of the Austrian empire. It became very clear to me when I was young that certain things were expected of me; and so I became an ambassador, a career that would serve as a stepping stone to become a true statesman of my country. My mother and father were so proud when I was named Austria's ambassador by the Emperor himself. Then… I lost everything. My family, my name, and my country. Believe me when I say that you have my sympathies. Perhaps even you can sympathize with how low misfortune brought me? Much has been said of you since your coronation, including the story of your life. I find in you a kindred spirit. I can only hope that you find the same in myself._

_ Despite everything, all was not lost. Under the leadership of he who is my new Emperor and master, and in the name of my new country, the Germanies were saved. And not just saved, but unified into an entity greater than anything that Europe has seen since the days of Charlemagne. Even Napoleon. The Germanies may be gone, but so is everything that was wrong with them. Most especially the nationalists. In its place is something glorious. The second Holy Roman Empire. You obviously know of the rise of the new order, but I wanted to give you the perspective of someone who is a part of that new order. It is good. We remember the deaths of everyone lost during The Night of the Midnight Hands, as people call the terrible night now, as well as everyone lost in the revolution. Because of this, in the words of his Imperial Majesty in his treatise, The Dark Materials, "_the dead admonish us to triumph._" And as for myself, I am once again an ambassador. This time on behalf of his Imperial Majesty for the Holy Roman Empire. Never would I have dreamed that I would be a servant of an empire that encompasses not just all of the unified German speaking lands, but also those lands that were once a part of the old empires. I'm sure my parents would not be disappointed for me to find a new purpose. This new nation is guided not by priorities, but by principles with transfinite values. And we remember the deaths of King Thomas and Queen Primrose._

_ So, I once again implore you, believe _me _when I say that their deaths will not be in vain. I hope that eases your mind and heart. But now I must move on to business. Ever since the end of the revolution, his Imperial Majesty has done everything to reconcile wrongs done to foreign relations. Aside from the many embassies that were caught in the crossfire, many noble and royal houses had family members within the Germanies, such as yourself. He has made great strides to show his compassion and to repair relations with the border countries. As for the Scandinavian countries and the Danish lands, he has had little opportunity to find a way to do so. His position makes it difficult for him to leave the country at all. So, when a keen opportunity presents itself, he sends a delegation to represent the Holy Roman Empire. Being his personal ambassador, I have this responsibility and more. Which brings me to the point of this message. It has come to our attention that, in response to the revolution, the Scandinavian countries and the Danish lands have called a conference, the first in thirty years, and that Arendelle is the city they have chosen to meet upon neutral grounds. Because this is the first time Norway has ever held such an event, I am sure there will be much pressure on you, its Queen, as its hostess. And let's be honest, there is more to this conference than meets the eye. Everyone will have their own agenda. So, with all of this considered, his Imperial Majesty has decided that it would be beneficial to you and to us that we send a delegation to represent the empire while we work together to open an embassy in the capitol. _

_ I'm sure that your feelings will be… mixed. But when I say that this will be beneficial to Norway as well as to the empire, I am being sincere. You will already be in a position of strength as the conference's hostess. That position will be reinforced when you reveal that you are also hosting a delegation from the Holy Roman Empire with your good graces. Myself will also be among that delegation. However, I know that situations like this require us to stand on ceremony. Your cabinet will also want to meet us. So, everything being said, in order to smooth over relations with Norway and the empire, myself and the delegation will be arriving soon to Arendelle to establish cordial relations based on mutual trust and respect with the aim of permanent relations. We hope that, with your good graces, we can plant a new embassy in the city and plant the seeds that will bear the best of fruits. Of course, this will all be decided by your own will. I leave the decision to welcome us or drive us from the city with torches and pitchforks to you. Though, I do say that in a jesting matter. Let us at least be civil._

_Long live the Emperor,_

_Heinrich von Metternich_

…

"I… don't know what to say." spoke Elsa's Lord Chief Minister. He and the rest of her cabinet were in bewilderment, shock, and all the rest.

"Then don't say anything." she replied as she threw the letter on the long mahogany table. Getting up from her chair at the head of the table, she walked over to a window to look out over Arendelle. She needed to think. Her arms crossed, her gaze focused on nowhere in particular, she tried to calm the storm inside her that was reflected in the very real storm outside.

_… It's still raining._

It had been raining in Arendelle for several days. The city was deserted. Everyone was inside or running through the streets, trying to escape the weather.

To say Elsa had mixed emotions would be a massive understatement. The silence of her cabinet and her own will were all that was keeping her from… having an accident.

Even so, the room had already become colder. It may not have bothered her, but she found herself closing her arms tighter around herself ever so slowly. Anymore and it would look like she was hugging herself.

_I can't retreat into myself. Not now._

The breaking of the silence was probably her saving grace. "The prudent thing to do at this point…" said her Lord Chief Minister, Gustav Haugland, "…would be to prepare for their arrival with all due grace… If only to appear welcoming." He said that last part with very noticeable disdain. Elsa shared his sentiments.

"Prepare? Welcome them? In Arendelle?!" Jakob Andersen, her Lord Minister of War, was never one for subtlety. "I say we throw them back into the sea! They have no business here!"

"Let's not be hasty, Jakob." Her Lord Minister of the Treasury, Lucius Cronvicus, always managed to sound like a snake, but a pragmatic snake nonetheless. "Telling them to get back on their ship and turn around would be very bad for us."

"It would be worse for them! They'll drown! Not at all an undeserved end if you ask me!"

"Lower your voice, Jacob." replied Gustav. Being her Lord Chief Minister and a man in his fifties, he always managed to keep a level head. "Lucius is right. We cannot simply turn them away. We must consider…"

They continued to argue. The other cabinet members eventually joined in. If they noticed the drop in temperature at all, they were too busy steaming to pay any mind.

That was just fine with Elsa. She drowned out their voices in her thoughts, opting to stare out the window to brood over everything that brought her to this point.

One year… One year since the start of her reign last June. Where to even begin?

The arguing was settling down. Gustav was once again taking the reins. He always did in the end. It didn't matter. Elsa had already made her decision-as much as she loathed it-on the matter. Her Lord Chief Minister would simply come to the same conclusion and she would agree that it was the best thing to do. Her meetings always went like this. Sometimes the arguing got old, but Elsa felt she needed to hear what everyone in her cabinet felt was the best course of action.

At the moment though, she just didn't care. The circumstances and events that brought them to this point made it clear what she had to do.

Three months ago, the revolution in the German speaking nations rocked Europe. Nationalist uprisings by multiple different groups overthrew the many different monarchies. But it wasn't the revolution that shocked everyone. Revolutions had been rocking nations like France for years. It was what took its place that caught everyone off guard. A single nationalist party, its name unknown, had formed an alliance with the armies and navies of all the nations and led the charge against the rebels. What followed was the meteoric rise of a regime that united all of the German speaking nations and their empires in the span of a week. Now, the new Holy Roman Empire was becoming an industrial and military giant.

Its rise meteoric, it was only natural that it caught the attention of its neighbors. Most especially its ruler, Emperor Adalric. The Concert of Europe was genuinely afraid of the possibility of another Napoleon. The Napoleonic Wars may have been long before Elsa's time, but she knew the gravity of a situation where it could happen again.

Ever since her coronation, Elsa wanted nothing more than to avoid further attention to herself. It was the last thing she wanted. Now, it was about to happen again.

_This is a disaster. I might as well count calamity upon calamity…_

"… that being said, we should prepare post haste a suitable residence for an embassy. I think everyone shares my stance on not allowing them to reside in the castle." said Gustav. The other cabinet members replied with an aye. "Excellent. Your Majesty, what is your will?"

Elsa was still staring out the window. Now, she found herself looking back at herself, her reflection revealing her countenance. Wearing a conservative dress of purple and green, her hair in a bun, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath before opening them to look back into her cerulean orbs to steel herself.

She turned back to her cabinet. "Gentlemen, the situation with the conference was already delicate enough. Now, we'll back walking a very narrow tightrope." She walked back to the head of the table. "I expect everyone to be on his best behavior when the delegation arrives." She glanced quickly at her Lord Minister of War before he could notice. Its meaning was clear. "We will entertain our guests. Nothing more. We won't promise them anything. I suggest you brace yourselves for the coming weeks. They'll be hear soon."

"How soon can we expect them, your Majesty?"

Knock, knock, knock. "Come in." Elsa tried not to hold her breath. The letter had arrived several days ago. It was why she called an emergency meeting, but all her cabinet members were outside the city. Some were days from Arendelle. Needless to say, they were about to get a rude wake up call.

Her chamberlain, Kai, walked in and quickly bowed before replying hastily, "Your Majesty, a ship bearing a black flag with a golden bird of prey is entering the fjord." He continued, grimly, "They are here."

Gasps of shock came from everyone in the room, except Elsa. They all turned to her.

Standing, taking on a graceful and regal air, placing on her mask of a smile, she said, "Well, let's go greet our honored guests."


	6. Chapter 6

Phew! Finished just in time of my biweekly basis! I had a hard time writing this chapter. It made me feel… uncomfortable.

**VI**

That very first meeting between Elsa and Heinrich von Metternich went about as well as it could have gone. But _he _wasn't there. He was attending to some business in Stavanger.

…

Helga's Tavern was busy. Technically speaking, it was always busy. But today, it was a special kind of busy. It wasn't just more busy. It was the kind of busy when men and women did foolish things. Amidst the roaring laughter, the revelry and the music was the one thing that brought everyone to Helga's Tavern in the first place.

Misery.

When misery comes crawling, it usually finds its way to places like this. Everyone wanted to forget their troubles. They were willing to do foolish things to do it. "Albrecht" knew this. He also knew that with so many people in one place, it was very easy to lose yourself.

That suited him just fine.

Eventually, he found his way to the bar. The bar tender approached him and asked, "What can I get you?"

"You can get me the owner." he replied. "I need to speak with Harold Ernsland."

The bar tender suddenly became very aware of him. "Albrecht" wondered if he thought him suspicious. Then the man asked, "And who wants to see him?"

"Albrecht Durer." he replied. "And get me a glass of brandy, would you?"

The bar tender adopted a look of understanding… After he poured him a glass of brandy, he made his way to a door that led to a room in the back. "Albrecht" sat and waited. He satiated himself on the brandy. As his eyes wandered, he noticed a large bauble on the wall, shined to perfection. He could see himself in it. He could also see Ragazzo waiting by the doorway, his back leaning against the wall next to it. The Italian looked pensive.

Looking back at himself with his dark coat, he felt he was looking back at a shadow.

The door opened and out walked the bar tender and a short, lanky man with a moustache who could only be Harold Ernsland.

"Ah, Mr. Ernsland." he said.

"Mr. Durer." he replied, the two of them shaking hands. "So good to finally meet you."

"And you, Mr. Ernsland. I trust you've found a residence fitting my request?"

"I have, and we'll go over the details, but why don't you enjoy yourself? Join me in the den. We'll discuss where you'll be staying over some leisure activity. Besides, it's better than trying to talk out here over the sailors. A little too noisy for my liking, but that's what I get for opening a tavern so close to the docks."

"Sounds wonderful. Can I bring my drink?"

"Of course. I'll even get you a cigarette. Talking over smoke and brandy will be even better."

As Harold Ernsland made his way back toward the door with "Albrecht Durer" following, Ragazzo continued to observe them. When they disappeared behind the door, the Italian went to get the others.

…

"May I ask why 'Helga's Tavern?'" asked "Albrecht."

"I named it after my wife." replied Harold Ernsland. "You see, we also live here and I wanted her to feel as much at home as possible. Though, I might have gone a little far. Still, the name stuck."

"In other words, he named it after her because he's so sweet on her, the big sap." said another voice.

"Albrecht" was greeted with the sight of three men sitting around a table beset with glasses of brandy, cigarettes and playing cards. The smell of alcohol and smoke permeated the air. They all looked to be merry men. They could only have been the friends of one Mr. Ernsland.

_That… complicates things._

"Oh, shut up George." said the owner. "Call me soft all you want. You've no idea what it's like to be married."

"Thank God." he replied, laughing at himself.

"Who's your friend, Harold?" asked another man.

"Ah, of course. Where are my manners. George, Stephen, Dorian, this is the man I was telling you about a few days ago. Albrecht Durer."

"The buyer?" asked Stephen. "So you're the one who's looking to rent one of our safe houses."

"That's right." replied Albrecht. "When I heard a group of smugglers was renting out some of their safe houses to potential buyers, I jumped at the opportunity. Receiving information from the underworld isn't always reliable, so I contacted Mr. Ernsland here to find out if it was true." He noticed now that they were playing poker. "Are you gentlemen playing five-card draw?"

"We are." replied George. "Care to join us?"

"I do enjoy a good game… but alas, I haven't the time and there's somewhere I need to be. Besides, I'd hate to impose."

"Nonsense, Mr. Durer!" exclaimed the owner. "Sit down. Enjoy yourself. We'll go over the details of your residence while we drink."

"Once again, I must refuse. There's somewhere I need to be… That being said, I would like to enjoy my brandy."

"Then pull up a chair. Relax."

"…Very well." "Albrecht" pulled up a chair in-between George and Stephen with the former on his left and the latter on his right. Just across from him were Dorian and the owner sitting on his friend's left. Setting his glass on the table, he asked, "I would appreciate that cigarette now."

Grabbing a pack from his pocket, the owner held it out open, letting "Albrecht" retrieve a cigarette. When it was lit by his tinderbox, he allowed himself to momentarily indulge himself… just enough…

_Easy there… you need to keep a clear head…_

"Good thing you decided not to join us." said George. "The only reason we're playing this game now is to win our money back from Stephen. He's won all the games we've played for two weeks in a row."

"Now, George…" said Stephen. "… you're hardly so bad off that you need to win your money back. The only one who really needs to win his money back is Dorian, and that's only because he's been the first to lose every single game for the past five weeks!"

"I am right here, you know." said Dorian glumly. That elicited a laugh from the others in a room.

"As you can see, this routine is one we go through every week." said the owner. "But back to business. Dorian, show him the picture."

Dorian pulled what appeared to be a sketch out from his pocket, handing it to "Albrecht." Observing the picture, he noticed how close the house was to the docks.

"It's a two story house complete with a cellar and basement." said Dorian. "Originally, we used it to hide certain goods we didn't want the guards inspecting whenever we docked in Arendelle. Contraband mostly. Unfortunately, they caught wind of what we were doing and so we had to shut down our markets in the city. We left before the guards could clap us in irons." He took a drag from his cigarette. "Since the house was abandoned, the mayor was going to put it up for sale for whoever could afford it. The thing is they couldn't make use of the property without the deed. Now, because of our line of work, you may think that deed was simply nullified when they found out what we were really up to. But I had a plan in place that if anything should happen to the current owner of the home, then the deed was to go directly to… another… Dorian with whom I am 'related.' Needless to say, I made the proof of this other Dorian's existence so convincing that the guards, being as dimwitted as they are, could never follow the trail. That pretty much left an entire house empty for our use. Of course, we wouldn't dream of trying to resume our dealings in Arendelle…"

"Wouldn't want to either." said George. "That city's gone to the dogs, what with the Queen being a _witch_ and all the paranoia of another freak winter."

The tone of loathing in George's voice was a sound "Albrecht" had grown accustomed to whenever he asked the people of Norway about their Queen. Some were simply indifferent to her, but most seemed to have a negative opinion of her. Others were even scared of her… It was understandable.

"At any rate…" continued the owner. "… we decided the best thing to do would be to open the house up for rent for interested parties with… interesting professions. That's when I got a letter from you saying that you heard about us via your sources in the underworld. A few days later, someone who I can only assume was one of your people dropped off a case with a full payment in marks."

On that note, the owner got up to retrieve something sitting on top of a barrel in the corner of the room. When he returned, he held what appeared to be the deed and a set of jangling keys, handing them to "Albrecht." "You'll be pleased to know that the guards have returned all the wine they confiscated from the cellar back to their original abode. And they only swiped one bottle."

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Ernsland. I'm much obliged." replied "Albrecht", taking the deed and keys and putting them in an inside coat pocket.

He let himself enjoy his brandy and cigarette, as did everyone else whilst continuing to play five-card draw, up until Stephen said, "Mr. Durer… If I may ask… That is to say… we've heard some interesting… rumors about your dealings in the underworld…"

"Stephen!" cut off the owner. "I already said we weren't going to talk about that. It's rude."

"Oh come on, Harold." said George. "We all wanted to ask. Stephen was just the first to do it."

"It's still rude! His affairs are his own."

"Umm… gentlemen?" They all turned to "Albrecht." "I can't help but feel my reputation precedes me. What… exactly have you all heard?"

"Well, it's all probably false anyway." said Dorian. "But I'm curious…"

"Dorian! Not you too!" the owner looked flabbergasted. "I'm sorry Mr. Durer, I don't want my friends to pry. It's none of their business."

"It's quite alright, Mr. Ernsland." "Albrecht" took a drag from his cigarette. "My dealings have caused some rumors to start flying. That being said, this is the first time someone actually decided to ask me about them. I could tell you all certain information, but I can't share everything. My employers wouldn't look to kindly on that."

_And so it begins._

"Then let me be the first to ask… why Arendelle?" asked Stephen. "I mean, if you're going to start a smuggling operation, there's far better cities than the capitol for more lucrative business. Christiania, Bergen, even here in Stavanger."

"This is true. To put it plainly, I'm not trying to start a smuggling operation, although the house will be used as a kind of base of operations while I'm in Arendelle."

"Can I ask what is the nature of these operations?" asked Dorian. "You see, we've heard from some friends of ours down in Christiania that you were at the docks asking around about their own smuggling operations and the operations of their associates. Since no one knew you, you came off as, forgive me since we now know better who you are, suspicious. Had you not identified yourself as a German, most would have assumed you were a guard in disguise."

"Albrecht" chuckled at this. "Word does spread quickly." Quickly downing some brandy, he continued, "I'm sorry if I may have scared your associates, but I had to be as thorough as possible. To alleviate your fears, I'm not trying to do anything related to smuggling or trying to bring down the smuggling operations here in Norway. What I am doing is following a trail. Bread crumbs if you will."

"Actually…" said the owner. "I know I said we shouldn't pry, but my curiosity has gotten the better of me… They did tell us it seemed as if you were looking for someone. Possibly more than one person… Is this true?"

Taking a drag, "Albrecht" thought about how he should answer, and then said, "Well, to a degree it is, but it's not that simple. I'll be straightforward with you, gentlemen. I am looking for certain individuals, but before you ask anything else, I must ask my own question. I'm sure you've heard of the Prussian Liberation Army, or the PLA for short. The newspapers seem to be giving them a great deal of attention these days. What's your opinion of them?"

The four men briefly didn't know what to say. Then the owner said, "Well… with the way the papers paint it, they seem like radicals to me. In fact, we heard just recently that there was an attack on an imperial court house in Berlin and that the PLA made claims of responsibility. I think more than twenty people were killed with more wounded."

"All of what you've heard about the PLA is true, although the papers outside of the empire like to keep out that they enjoy setting off explosives on their targets before they attack and then run to the hills." "Albrecht" said this with noticeable disdain before taking a drag. "They're a group of armed and extremely dangerous men. Extremists. So… it may surprise some of you to know that the PLA also work outside of the empire in foreign countries."

That garnered the attention of everyone in the room. George looked shocked. The others… there was something else there.

_… Wariness…_

"Truly?" asked George.

"Indeed. With what my employers know, they know that anything the PLA do is detrimental to their interests. They also know that the PLA have been conducting and directing their operations from the safety of different nationalities whilst secretly trying to procure support from nobles with… misguided sympathies. However, thanks to the work of the Emperor, any official support is lost on them. Most view the PLA for what they are, not what they purport to be. What's more, they've been losing more and more ground in the empire itself. The Imperial Protectorate and the Imperial Monitors have been showing them no mercy. As it is, the PLA are in danger of being nearly wiped out. This is where I come in."

Taking another drag, he then continued, "My employers have given me the mission of finding the PLA sects hidden in foreign countries. That is why I am here."

"Wait… are you saying that there are PLA here in Norway?"

"I'm afraid so."

George slammed his fist on the table at hearing this. "Damn Prussian dogs! The country is bad enough with the Queen and everything else it has to deal with, but ever since the foreigners have been showing up after the revolution, things have been getting worse! There's almost no jobs left! These people think they can simply make a new home here, in our country, just because they were uprooted during the revolution and that's supposed to somehow make us feel bad for them! Hell, even in the empire they were still technically foreigners! It's all the people who aren't actually German! Yet now they think that moving to another country is going to make things better? Bunch of idiots! Now you tell me we got extremists! The world is going to Hell!"

"You seem very sensitive about this topic." _That much is obvious. I wonder…_

"Ahh…" George looked embarrassed after his rant. "Sorry… It's just that I have friends here in Stavanger who have been losing their jobs because the foreigners work for less. Most already worked for so little, but now the bourgeoisie's cutting everyone's wages and sometimes cutting people altogether, replacing them with cheaper labor. It's so unfair."

_Let's test the waters… _"I completely agree with you. In fact, the empire itself has been tackling the question of what to do with peoples of other ethnicities in the empire to put the German people themselves first."

This whole time, as the two discussed this, the owner, Dorian and Stephen became very quiet. Their faces took on dark looks. None of them could focus on the game or even the cards they were playing with.

_Time to show my own hand._

"Honestly, with the amount of people coming off the boats, you'd think they're trying to take over the country." said George.

"I don't think you need to fear anything so dramatic. However, it may surprise you more to know that not all of the foreigners, the PLA especially, have been illegally entering the country."

George gave an indignant grunt at this. "I wouldn't put it past me. Even with the guards trying to control the amount of people coming in."

"Then how about this… What if I told you that smugglers have been starting to smuggle people?"

That was when George became quiet.

"Albrecht" continued, "This is the trail I'm following to find the PLA. My plan is to find the smugglers who have been moving the PLA and their goods and question them. Perhaps I can even persuade them to change their ways. Aside from payment…" his eyes glanced at the other three men in the room. They couldn't keep eye contact with him. "… I'm sure they have their reasons for aiding criminals." The statement was sarcastic enough to feel the dripping, but also truthful enough to feel the weight.

Harold Ernsland, Stephen and Dorian took notice of the truthfulness.

George took notice of the sarcasm, giving an indignant grunt. "Sure. The un-patriotic scum. You'd think people might actually care about their country! But enough of my ranting. You seem to have a good plan Mr. Durer, but I'm wondering just what exactly you'll do when you find them? I doubt they'll just decide to tell you everything."

"Perhaps, but that's only because they, smugglers being rather unscrupulous people most of the time, will think they have all the guns. In reality though, that's not the case."

"What do you mean?"

"Well… it's like this game." He gestured to the cards. "At the outset, they'll think the cards are divided evenly between themselves and myself. But in reality, I'll be holding _all_ the cards. When they realize this, I'll try to persuade these men that their betting their fortunes on the wrong kind of people. It's worth trying, if only to avoid any unnecessary roughness. Cards are no better than murder if cards can do the trick."

"Have you had any luck finding them?"

"My sources did have a lead, but… their luck ran out."

"Why is that?"

The other three men in the room looked at him… They finally gained the steel to look at him… Their eyes were hollow.

"Albrecht" raised his glass for a drink. "They were killed…" Raising his glass as if toasting them, he gave a knowing smile. "… by un-patriotic scum." With that, he finished his brandy in a single swallow, slamming the glass on the table.

_…_

_ …_

_ … Yes, I know _all _about it. _

_ … And you all, for that matter._

George finally became aware of the silent exchange between them. He had no idea what it was for.

Probably because, if "Albrecht" deduced correctly, they didn't tell him what they were doing behind his back.

He just took a drag from his cigarette and asked, "So… how is this going to go down?"


	7. Chapter 7

If you're wondering what the song would actually sound like, look up Percival Lazare on YouTube. That'll give you an idea as to what's being played. Reviews please? On the chapter? On the story? Anything?

**VII**

The tavern was already crowded enough. It became a little more crowded when four people barged in through the door, seemingly at the same time, running into several people on their way in. The woman in the group, short with ebony hair, simultaneously said sorry to many a grumbling patron. For a brief time, the group looked around the tavern, acting as if they were lost.

Everyone in the group, the woman and the three men with her, were all carrying what appeared to be instrument cases…

"Hey!" cried the bartender, drawing the attention of the group. "If you're not here to eat, drink, or spend the night, then leave! We're busy enough as it is without people lounging about!"

"I'm sorry!" cried the woman. "It's just that…" she had to make way for the many patrons. When she felt safe with where she was standing, she asked, "Is this Helga's Tavern?"

"That's what it says on the sign, doesn't it?" The bartender replied, cleaning the bar while he was at it. He was getting irritated. There were so many people that he couldn't waste his time on a group of halfwits. "Or are you all so lost that you didn't see where you were going?" He chuckled at that.

The group managed to make their way straight to the bartender, somewhat forcefully. "I'm sorry." the woman once again said. "None of us can read the signs." Her words were slow. Deliberate. Like she had to be careful how she pronounced her words. "But we heard there were jobs open at Helga's Tavern. You said this is it?"

"Well yeah, I said…" He stopped what he was doing. "Wait…" He finally glanced up at them. "Did you say you can't read the signs?"

"Yes." she sounded exhausted.

"None of you?"

"Yes!" she exclaimed and nodded, as did everyone else in the group. That's when the bartender noticed that her tone of voice sounded slightly out of place… like it was meant to speak another language.

That's when he also finally took a longer look at the woman and her entourage. Skin tanner than usual. Dark hair. Dark eyes. It finally clicked.

"You all… aren't from these parts… are you?"

"No, we're Bulgarian. We came off a ship a few days ago and heard there was still jobs to be had at Helga's Tavern. Is it true?"

_Foreigners_ the bartender thought to himself.

The mention that the group wasn't from Norway drew glances and even eyes, some lingering, on the group. Eventually they all turned away. Helga's Tavern had been getting more and more foreigners lately. It was starting to become routine.

That didn't make the local patrons any more comfortable.

"Well… yes…" replied the bartender hesitantly. "This is true. But it's not what you think it is. We don't need servers or cooks. We're looking for entertainment. Boss thought it would be good to hire some musicians or singers. This place tends to get cranky around evening hours…" His eyes were finally drawn to the instrument cases.

"That's why we're here!" exclaimed the woman, holding up what appeared to be a case for a lyre like a trophy. "We're the entertainment you want!"

Ragazzo slipped back inside. He made his way toward the backdoor, the bartender too preoccupied with the Bulgarians to notice.

"I suppose…" said the bartender. "… Before I even consider hiring any of you, I need to know you all can perform under pressure. If you can't do that then…"

"Can't perform under pressure?" replied the woman, looking insulted. "Ha! Tell you what. We'll show you _right now_ just how well we can perform under pressure. Consider it an audition."

"You're serious? Unpaid?"

"Absolutely." She turned back to the others. "_Dobre momcheta, grizha za da se pokazhe tozi zadnik koe kakvo e?_"

They all replied eagerly with a nod and spoke in a language indecipherable to the bartender. When the woman turned back around to face him, her hands on her hips, she said, "That means yes."

Ragazzo had made his way to the backdoor. The woman looked at him, waiting…

"Well, get on with it!" said the bartender.

With that, the group made its way toward the other side of the tavern where there was a relatively sparse clearing. Good enough to set up anyway.

Opening the instrument cases revealed… some of the most unique instruments the patrons had ever seen. Once of them appeared to be a lyre of some kind.

"Hey." said one of the patrons, drawing the attention of the woman from the lyre. "What is that?"

She replied fondly, "It's a byzantine lyra."

By then, everyone was nearly ready. They had garnered the attention of all of the patrons in the tavern. All eyes were on them.

None of them were on Ragazzo, who the woman could see was by the backdoor, his ear against its cold wood, listening for…

…

_So… how is this going to go down?_

…

Ragazzo gestured with his hand as if to say… _now_.

The woman took that as her cue. "_Gotovi li ste?_" she asked to her entourage.

"_Da!_" they all replied.

"_Togava da go rita!_"

With enthusiasm, the band started to play an upbeat jig that had the rapt attention of everyone in the tavern. So much so that some couldn't help but tap their feet. They had expected something interesting, but something entertaining?

The song was an old favorite of the group…

"_Oy Lazare, Lazare_

_Tuka ni sa kazali._

_Oy Lazare, Lazare_

_Tuka ni sa kazali._

_Tervo tuka doydome_

_Moma momche naydome._

_Ya momata godete_

_Ya momcheto zhenete._"

When the patrons realized that the music was actually good, most, being drunk, couldn't help but revel in the music. Especially during the more upbeat periods.

Ragazzo went completely unnoticed as he made his way back through the door to the outside.

The music was infectious and its beat had passed to everyone in the tavern. One of the patrons began banging against his table to the beat. Then another did the same. Then another.

Naturally, no one would be able to hear what was going on in the den.

"_Raduvay se, raduvay_

_Raduvay se domaki ne._

_Kolko liste po gorach_

_Tolko zdrave na taz kyshcha._

_Raduvay se, raduvay_

_Raduvay se domaki ne._

_Kolko liste po gorach_

_Tolko zdrave na taz kyshcha._"

Somewhere along the way, during the final stretch, the patrons tried to sing along with their Bulgarian entertainers. They had no idea what the words meant. They only knew that they were charged with what felt like elation. To know the words didn't matter. To feel them was something else entirely. And it was powerful.

The reason it was powerful was because it reminded the Bulgarians of home. No one else could identify with it because they had no recollection of what that home was like. It simply made them happy. In truth, the song was about a boy, Lazare, who was marrying a girl. Nothing complicated about it. The song was actually played at the woman's wedding. Her husband, aptly named Lazare, was with her that night. So was the rest of the family. One, the woman's brother, the other, her husband's brother.

They finished their song on an upbeat note. The tavern cheered in approval. They even managed to draw an even bigger crowd. How they all fit inside was beyond anyone's guess. Many patrons asked the Bulgarians who they were and where were they from. The woman said her name was Marija. Everyone, even the bartender, were happy to have them and they were hired immediately. It was as if everyone had suddenly forgotten they were foreigners…

… But they were more than that. _He _had known them for years. Not surprisingly, they would be gone the next day.

Such is what happens when you hide such terrible misdemeanors.

…

Harold Ernsland eventually woke up. He found himself on his bed in his upstairs bedroom. His wrists were tied as well as his ankles. He panicked.

"You're awake."

The owner identified the voice immediately, turning to see "Albrecht Durer" sitting on a stool in a corner of the room.

He knew why he was here. "I have nothing to say to you." he said. "You're not getting anything out of me. If the Prussians found out I spilled secrets to the likes of you, they'd have my head."

"So they forced you to cooperate?" replied "Albrecht." It was less of a question and more of a statement.

The owner was at a loss. "They… They paid me to keep my mouth shut and said that if I revealed secrets to anyone asking about what they were doing, they'd take back the payment in full… and not in currency."

"But you were still paid?"

"I'm not having this conversation! Besides, I don't know any more than I've already told you."

"I doubt that." "Albrecht" left the corner and approached the bed. "You know, this could have been so much more civil. All you had to do was answer me as to who's hiding the Prussians and then I would have been on my way. Now, thanks to your friend Dorian when he pulled his gun on me, your friends are dead… Well, except George. I imagine he'll be very quiet as to what he's seen tonight."

The owner, unbelieving that Dorian and Stephen were dead, asked, "How? Someone would have heard…"

The tavern was just below them. The owner could hear everything. He could even hear music…

"No one heard a thing." said "Albrecht."

The owner was starting to realize his life was in the hands of this man. This Mr. Durer, if that was his real name, held all the cards…

_Cards are no better than murder if cards can do the trick._

"And now you understand." said the man who could only be Harold's worst nightmare. "Now tell me, if you don't know who's hiding the Prussians, what do you know? And I want to know everything."

But he couldn't talk. He wouldn't. "Like I said, I don't know anything else. All we did was smuggle men and weapons into Arendelle."

"Weapons?"

"I mean…"

"No, you said weapons."

The owner was silent. By now, he was done talking at all. He had said too much. If the Prussians found out that he talked, they could have very well taken their payment back in blood.

_ He _knew this. But he had thrown in his lot with the PLA. Terrorists were the very definition of the wrong crowd in the empire. And he also needed to know where they were.

He let the owner drag on his silence. _Sigh_. He never enjoyed taking drastic measures… He was just good at it.

"I see how it is, Mr. Ernsland…" he said. "… But you leave me no choice."

At that, the door on the other side of the room that led to the bathroom opened. Out walked Ragazzo dragging what appeared to be a chair and… someone was tied to it. Her mouth was gagged.

"Helga!" cried the owner.

Ragazzo had caught Harold's wife when she was leaving the kitchens. She was slightly plump. Very matronly.

The Italian set the chair in front the bed. She looked terrified. She tried to speak to her husband through the gag, struggling in her restraints.

"Albrecht" walked over behind her, his hands taking hers. She tried to look back at what he was doing.

"Now…" His eyes were dead set on the owner's. He was a terror. His eyes-

Snap!

She screamed hysterically through the gag.

"Helga!" The owner was in suffering. The terror broke one of her fingers.

"… what are the PLA doing in Norway?" he asked calmly through the woman's whimpering.

"I… I don't know!"

Snap!

The seconds scream was worse than the first.

"You're lying." Her whimpering became sobbing.

"I don't know!"

Snap!

Her screams were maddening.

"Don't lie to me." Her sobs mixed with hyperventilation.

"I DON'T KNOW!"

Snap!

The poor woman would pass out soon if this continued.

"That's four fingers. Lie to me again and I'll have to break her thumb ALONG with her hand." She had no idea what her husband had involved himself in. She only tried to plead with her eyes to tell him to choose _her _over what he was hiding.

"FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, I DON'T KNOW!"

Snap!

As was the sound of her thumb being broken, so was the sound of her screaming drowned out by noise… noise…

…

He hated noise. He especially hated screams. They reminded him too much of home. That's why he embraced Dumah. His silence made everything quit…

Funny… His embracing of Dumah was like a parody of what his father always told him about what silence was used for, but it achieved the same end… at least, that's what he thought. But it was more of a fake peace. If he knew this, it didn't matter.

For the longest time, it was the only thing that kept him sane.

…

"STOP! STOP! I'll talk, just please stop hurting my wife!" Harold Ernsland was in tears. He couldn't stand seeing his wife in suffering.

All five fingers on her left hand, as well as the hand itself, were broken. She was crying like a child and looked about ready to pass out.

He released her hands and let Ragazzo take her back to the bathroom. "Ragazzo." he said, drawing the Italian's attention before he walked the woman in. "Leave her in the bathroom and make sure it's clear outside. Wait for me there."

He did just so, walking out the door and closing it behind him before going down the stairs.

The owner and _him _were alone. "Let's try this again. What do you know?"

"The Prussians…" He tried to answer through his sniffling. "They never told me what exactly they were planning, but me and the… others… picked up on a few things."

"Such as?"

"Arendelle… They were going to Arendelle. Said a safe haven would be there waiting for them. They never said who's hiding them, I swear."

"Did you all move them?"

"No. We only smuggled them hear into Stavanger. After that though, they asked us to move contraband. Weapons. I told them that our business was done with them, but then I found out they were PLA when one of them pulled a gun on me and said they'd pay me and the others to keep our mouths shut, in addition for our services. We knew what would happen if we tried to report them, so we just did what we were told."

"What about the weapons? What can you tell me about them?"

"They were all in crates. Some fifty shotguns, a hundred and fifty rifles, an assortment of other small arms… and explosives… some kind of grenades."

"Could you tell me where they were from?"

"What, are you kidding? I don't know shit like that! The Devil may be in the details, but I wouldn't be doing my job if I started to pay attention to that kind of CRAP!"

"Do I need to bring your wife back in here?"

Silence… That shut him up.

"Did you notice anything about the crates?" he asked.

"Like what?"

"Were there serial numbers on the crates?"

"… Yeah… They were on these tiny boxes too… Bullets, I think."

_Bingo._

"Last question… Did they say what the PLA are doing in Norway?"

"No. They'd never tell me that."

"Could it have something to do with the conference?"

"The conference? What would… Ah, look, I would have told you that by now."

"Is there anything else you can tell me? Anything at all?"

"No. They just- wait… I think… They were talking to each other in German, but I think I heard two of them talking about a…" He appeared to be struggling to remember something important. Something key. And then he said, "A lord… or a noble of some kind. I didn't catch his name. That's honestly all I know. Please… let me go."

He considered if he should press the owner for more information, but the look in his eyes said he got everything he could from him. He was done here.

He walked over to the bed, pulled out a knife and started cutting the ropes. When he finished, the man mad a move to the bathroom for his wife.

"Mr. Ernsland." The owner turned back to see him throw a sack onto the bed. "Open it."

He was hesitant at first. He had about enough surprises for one night. But a look from _him _told him to do it anyway. When he opened the sack he found… cash.

"It's all in Marks. Everything the PLA paid you and more. You can get it exchanged at the bank. It also has all the records the PLA made of you and your associates when you started getting involved with them." The owner looked up shocked and was about to ask the obvious question, but he was cut off by him when he said, "Don't ask. Just burn them. Mr. Ernsland… I'll make myself clear. This is all compensation. We will never speak of this encounter or anything that was said to anyone ever again. Understood?"

The owner wanted to say more. Wanted to rebuke him. It was all blood money and it didn't make up for what he had did to him, his friends and his wife… but he took it all in, taking a deep breath, and simply replied, "I understand."

With that, he turned his back and made for the door to the stairs. He could hear the poor man rushing to the bathroom and fretting over his wife before he closed the door and made his way down the stairs and into the alleyway.

He knew three things with certainty.

One: Someone was aiding the PLA, going so far as to give them government weapons and ammunition, which only meant that the only reason they could have gotten this far with such contraband was without government agencies investigating their missing weapons. Whatever transactions were being made were being made under the table. The weapons most certainly weren't from the empire. His search for them would have been much easier thanks to the Emperor's policy on ensuring everything had a serial number.

Two: The only reason the PLA were in Arendelle could only have been because of the conference. Him and Heinrich expected trouble, which was why they were preparing for it. What's more, their success hinged on whether or not Heinrich could find out what the Queen was planning on doing for the conference and if it would be detrimental to the empire. The job of making her not do anything… life-threatening and to try to make her sympathetic to the empire would be _his _job.

Which brings up three: Arendelle was where he was going next.


End file.
